A Place to Rest
by colefallow
Summary: There are many kinds of exhaustion. Atton Rand / Meetra Surik (Exile)
1. Chapter 1

Atton Rand was not a naturally quiet man.

So, on the third day that his snappy remarks were replaced with irritable grunts, his incessant pacing with refusal to leave the cockpit, Meetra decided she'd had enough. It wasn't as though it would be the first time she'd had to manage morale - but it was the first time she'd needed to do so with someone she considered so close to her.

"Still alive up here?" Meetra's tone was jovial as she peered into the cramped cockpit, but worry coursed beneath the surface. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to shield the feeling from him or not.

"Debatable," he answered easily enough. His jacket was draped over the back of his seat, his attention focused on something other than the controls for once - colored chits, being shuffled from hand to hand.

"Then let's debate," she puffed back up the moment she hit the copilot's seat, eyes peering over the center console. "What are those?"

"A fortune, if we get them back to the right Nar Shaddaa casino," Atton murmured as he finished his third recount of the chits. Enough to repair the Ebon Hawk. Enough to get him his own ship and be done with all of _this_. In spite of the constant grousing from the scoundrel, she knew he wouldn't _really_ prefer the latter. But it didn't stop her worries.

"I take it we'll need to make a pit stop then," Meetra smiled, slapping a hand in Atton's direction. "More gambling? Drinking? Or maybe a new swoop bike?"

"Mm," he murmured as he laid his head back. It was the least interested in unsavory activities she'd ever seen him. The idea of taunting him over it was a tempting one, but ran counter to her original goal.

He shifted in his seat, tucked the chits back into his discarded jacket, and went back to staring out the view screen. Something dull throbbed in the small of Meetra's back. She pushed it away.

"It could help quite a bit around here," she admitted while picking at the armrest. She was careful to leave hopefulness out of her voice.

"Get a new personality for that rolling trash can," he mused, fingers fiddling at the top of one of his gloves. Meetra realized she'd never seen him without them. Her elbow pinched uncomfortably. He shifted again.

"I'm just surprised there's a casino left that you haven't been banned from," she tried to hide her smile and failed. He snorted.

"Too many to work over in one man's life. 'Sides, there's always fresh blood," Atton tugged at each finger of his glove, lazily loosening its hold on his roughened digits. But his eyes were somewhere else. Far, far from the Ebon Hawk. Briefly, she considered reaching out to touch his mind - not to pry, but to get her bearings - but his furrowed brow was enough to keep her at bay. He offered no other clues to his current mental preoccupation. Clearly, however, he either didn't care to hide that something was amiss - or hadn't the energy.

She caught his wince when the glove finally slipped free of his arm, and carefully decided not to pry when it revealed a neat row of scars on the outside of his arm. The sigh that escaped him was heavy. All she could think of was how desperately she wanted to lighten the load laid on his shoulders.

The glove hit the deck plate, followed by its mate. Time felt far away when it was just the two of them.

"You're not gonna ask?"

Immediately the question threw her.

"What, pray tell, would I be asking?" She propped her head on fist for dramatic effect.

"Whatever it is you came up here for."

The implication that she hadn't come to simply _see him_ hurt more than she cared to admit, in spite of the fact that he was right.

"Maybe I just came to see you," and if she sounded a little irritated, she felt it was justified. The corner of his mouth quirked.

"Look, I know I'm irresistible, but I also know when a woman wants something from me. Something specific." He finally leveled her with a skeptical gaze, and she couldn't help noticing the bags that hadn't been under his eyes just days before. Her eyes narrowed in turn.

"You've been sleeping up here, haven't you?"

It sounded like an accusation.

All bravado fell from his demeanor, and he simply looked like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"...yeah...well...where else would I?"

She wondered what it felt like to be force choked.

"In...a bunk, perhaps?"

A sleazy smile crept over his features, as even as exhausted as he was, he couldn't resist an opening like _that_.

"That an invitation?"

_Now_ she wondered how many complete rotations' worth of eye rolling Atton had caused her.

"Yes, you utter buffoon. If we get in a tight spot - save me the euphemisms - I need you at your best. You've been with us longer than most of the crew. _You deserve a bunk_."

Her words did not have the intended impact, she realized, when he turned and stared out the view screen. " 'Us'? "

A poor choice of words, to be certain.

"You know what I mean," her words dripped with desperation to end the topic there.

"No, no, by all means, I'm just glad you consider me on the team." Each spike in irritation accentuated with one in volume.

"_Atton_," and this time, he really looked guilty. Tired in a way she'd never seen on him. "You have been sleeping in a pilot's seat for Maker knows how long. You need to sleep in a bed."

She suspected he would have been kicking rocks if they were outdoors.

"I'm fine," and for a moment even he looked surprised at how hollow the words rang.

"Of course you are," Meetra said as she drew herself to her feet. "My quarters will be empty for at least four hours while I train and meditate. What you do with that information is up to you."

She wasn't actually expecting him to take her up on it, but she figured there was no harm in trying. So when the first thing she saw, four and half hours later, was a mussed head of dark hair tucked tight in her bunk as she entered the dorms, she was genuinely surprised. But certainly not unpleasantly.

Very quickly, very quietly, Meetra slunk out of the room, locked the door, and decided she could stand to meditate a bit longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Three times Meetra had to deflect someone from barging in on Atton's desperately needed nap. First, it was Mira - looking for a change of clothes after their sparring match. She only huffed a laugh at the Jedi's explanation, and Meetra decided to pretend not to hear her muttered suggestion to join him as the huntress stalked away.

Then it was Kreia. She was more insistent, demanding her solitude for her meditation. At Meetra's suggestion to try the garage, as Bao-dur was acting as pilot in the scoundrel's absence, she relented, but it was a little harder to ignore the old Jedi's comment that she would need to clean her bedding after he'd used it.

Finally it was T3. His beeps and clicks indicated he was following a path of faulty wiring, but after careful questioning and ensuring it was nothing immediately dangerous, she diverted him to Bao-dur's latest project.

Once it hit the six and a half hour mark, there was a crash, followed by frantic fumbling. Meetra swept herself into a defensive stance as she reached for the door controls, not entirely sure what to expect until-

-until the door slid open, sending Atton toppling out directly onto Meetra. The swirl of motion all happened so quickly she couldn't control her reflexes until she heard him hit the wall with a dull thud.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry-" he tried to push himself off of the wall, but only succeeded in slipping and fumbling again. It took a bit, but once he settled in place, chest heaving, she could see how puffy his eyes were with sleep. She couldn't help a smirk.

"Feeling better?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times.

"I didn't, ah- I didn't mean to, to stay so...so long, or..."

"...at all?" She finished for him with a quirked brow. He frowned.

"Not really, no," he smoothed a hand down the loose sleep shirt he wore, eyes on his feet. She noticed he wasn't slouching like he had been.

"I'm sorry if I put you out, I tried to only sleep for an hour, but I took a shower before I laid down and-"

"Mira would be impressed," Meetra crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the glare. She was not disappointed.

"You know, I'm not sure why no one on this ship believes that I have a sense of personal hygiene, but I _do_ keep myself clean-"

"Just not shaven," her smile was true this time as she reached out to feel the scruff at his cheek. She wasn't sure why she did it, or why she expected him to flinch away. But he didn't. "It's quite the look."

"That a fact?" His smile matched hers quickly enough. "Didn't think you'd have a preference."

"Oh, on an 'irresistible' guy like you?" She let her hand fall to her side, but her fingers tingled with lingering sensation. He looked sheepish.

"Yeah, well...you're not exactly an open book."

"No," she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest again, "that's something we have in common."

He chuckled.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," he clutched at his stomach and for a moment she thought she could hear a rumbling as he bumped her with an elbow. "Can I treat you to a fresh nutrient pouch?"

"Such a gentleman."

"Don't insult me," and she couldn't help really laughing at that. He elbowed his way past her and she fell in step behind, still giggling, still getting daggers looked at her occasionally. The stiffness in her back was gone.

She felt the smile claim his features more than she saw it.


End file.
